Too Great a Price
by Deana
Summary: The war is over and our exhausted musketeers return home to some startling changes and shocking revelations that are hard to adjust to...especially for Aramis.
1. Chapter 1

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 **Too Great a Price  
** A Musketeer story by Deana

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The war lasted for four years.

The year was now 1635, and Captain Athos of the musketeers rode in the front of what remained of their military force. He was surrounded by his three closest friends: Aramis, Porthos, and d'Artagnan. They were all exhausted mentally as well as physically, and each of them bore more scars than what they'd had before France had declared war on Spain. France had won the war, as each of them had hoped for, and they were finally returning home.

Athos looked at each of his friends as they neared the palace. D'Artagnan had to fight to keep himself in check; wanting to increase their pace so he could see Constance again. He'd survived the war with fewer wounds than the others; his youthful energy had gotten him out of a lot of scrapes that would certainly have killed other men.

Porthos hadn't been wounded too much either; he was a fighting force all his own, and could take down four or five men in the time that it took someone to blink. Athos could see that he was tired though; they all were.

Athos looked at Aramis last. Aramis had always been the happy one, the kind of person who always smiled and liked to talk. After the awful experience that he'd suffered at the hands of Rochefort, he had changed. It was obvious that Aramis had been very shaken by how close he'd come to being executed for treason, and it had taken him quite a while to recover. Athos couldn't blame him for retiring to the monastery…what Aramis needed was peace and quiet. He often felt guilty for retrieving Aramis from Douai and throwing him into a war…that was the last thing that Aramis needed to endure after what he'd been through. Athos' only comfort was that Aramis had survived; if he'd been killed, that would've been too great a price to pay and Athos would never have forgiven himself.

Aramis was unaware of Athos' scrutiny. He stared at nothing, looking exhausted, pale, and thin, as his horse plodded along. War had not been easy on him…when not fighting the enemy, he desperately tried to save the lives of the wounded, even when wounded himself. Athos would never forget the night that he'd walked into the infirmary tent to find Aramis sewing up a soldier's cut-open leg. The sight wasn't unexpected…until Athos noticed that Aramis' right sleeve was completely sodden with blood from a gunshot wound that he hadn't even acknowledged, putting everyone else above himself. When Athos had grabbed him and pointed out his wound, Aramis had glanced at it with surprise, saying that he hadn't even noticed. He'd promptly passed out in Athos' arms after that, and lay unconscious all night from the bloodloss.

Athos sighed. When Aramis had woken the next day, he'd been upset that he hadn't been there to tend to his patients…despite his own wounds, he never gave up his role of surgeon. Thanks to him, most of the soldiers not instantly killed managed to survive their wounds…but some had died despite everything that Aramis had done. Each time that happened, he took it very hard, wondering what he'd done wrong.

As if that hadn't been enough, the Spanish had found out that Aramis was their best medic and had focused a lot of attacks on him, knowing that killing him would result in more French deaths. As a result, Aramis had been wounded the most. Even now, he was suffering from a broken wrist, obtained when one of the enemy had savagely bashed Aramis' arm with the handle of his pistol on the day that the war had been won. That had been less than a week ago, and Athos knew that Aramis was still in pain. Add that to the wounds that he was still recovering from and malnutrition from the regiment often not having enough food—and giving his portions to his wounded patients…

Guilt filled Athos again. _I should've left him in the monastery, where he would've stayed safe and healthy,_ he thought. Still staring at Aramis, he saw him wince and shift slightly on his horse. "Aramis?" he said.

Aramis looked towards him, eyes blinking with exhaustion.

"Are you all right?" Athos asked.

Aramis nodded. "Just…tired."

Athos nodded back. "We're almost there," he said.

Aramis looked ahead, and some life came back into his eyes. He was so glad to be returning home!

Athos smiled at the familiar gleam, some of his guilt alleviated by the evidence that the old Aramis was still in there.

Not long after, they reached the palace, spotting Treville standing at the bottom of the steps, waiting. When Treville saw the four of them, he couldn't stop the tears that sprang to his eyes; those four musketeers were like sons to him, and he had missed all of them terribly. He'd prayed every night that they would all survive, and to finally see the answer to his prayers was almost more than he could emotionally handle.

Finally, they arrived and stiffly dismounted—all except for d'Artagnan, who jumped down like he'd just gone for a leisurely ride. He reached Treville first, and the older man opened his arms and hugged him tightly. "It's so good to see you," Treville said to him. His hair and beard were grayer, but aside from that, he hadn't changed.

D'Artagnan smiled. "Same here, Captain. I mean, Minister for War."

Treville laughed and pulled out of the hug, looking d'Artagnan over and glad to see him looking fit, considering.

Porthos reached up to help Aramis' dismount. With his broken left wrist in a sling and his right arm still recovering from the gunshot wound, it wasn't easy for Aramis to get on and off his horse. Aramis let him help, wincing at all of the aches and pains throughout his body. "Thank you."

Porthos nodded with a smile. "We're home, Aramis!"

Aramis smiled back and they looked towards Treville, in time to see him hug Athos.

"Well done, Athos," Treville said into his ear. "You've made me proud. I knew you could do it."

Athos smiled before pulling away. He looked back at his three friends. "It wasn't just me."

Treville smiled and hugged Porthos next. "I'm sure that I have you to thank for getting them all out alive?"

Those words made Porthos think back to one particular attack on Aramis, where three Spanish soldiers had snuck into the infirmary tent and hit Aramis on the head, knocking him out. Whether they planned to kill him or kidnap him, they'll never know, for Porthos had descended on them like a raging bull, and saved Aramis' life. "Something like that," he answered.

Treville smiled, before looking at Aramis. Of the four of them, he knew that war would be hardest on him; Aramis had never fully recovered from his traumatic experience in Savoy, and after what Rochefort had done to him only days before the war began…

Aramis limped forward with a smile and accepted Treville's embrace. He was so glad to be home…so glad…

Treville hugged Aramis tightly. "I'm sorry for what you've been through," he whispered to him, hoping that the younger man could feel his sincerity.

Aramis sighed, eyes closed as his chin rested on Treville's shoulder. He remembered how Treville had taken care of him after he came back wounded from Savoy…how Treville had taken his side against Rochefort and King Louis, even…"And I thank you for helping me survive it all," he answered.

Treville's arms tightened around him for a few seconds more before they drew apart, and he saw the wince on Aramis' pale face that he couldn't hide. Treville looked down to Aramis' slinged arm, which had been caught between their bodies, and winced himself. "Musket ball?" he asked.

"Broken wrist," Porthos answered for Aramis.

Treville winced again. He studied Aramis for a few more seconds, easily able to see his exhaustion and pain. "Come, hopefully Louis will be brief, and then you can rest."

Athos told the rest of the musketeers to head to the garrison, and then he, Aramis, Porthos, d'Artagnan, and Treville headed into the palace.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

The palace looked exactly the same, as beautifully furnished as ever. As they slowly headed up the stairs to the throne room, everyone was quiet. To each musketeer, it felt as if they'd never left; they couldn't believe that it had been four whole years.

Treville noticed the others throwing glances at Aramis as they walked, and he couldn't blame them...Aramis looked asleep on his feet. Porthos had a hand around his friend's good arm—or better arm, at least—in gentle support, and Treville hoped that the king wouldn't keep them there for long.

Finally, they arrived and the guards standing at the doors opened them. For the first time in four years, the four musketeers walked inside the throne room, and there sat King Louis and Queen Anne.

Aramis couldn't help himself; he caught his breath at the sight of the queen; she was as beautiful as he remembered, and she was smiling...at _him_.

Porthos tightened the hold on Aramis' arm, pulling it against himself purposely to jar the healing gunshot wound and pull Aramis out of his daze.

Aramis flinched, and broke his gaze on the queen.

"The great musketeers have finally returned!" King Louis exclaimed, standing from his throne and heading over to them. He'd grown a mustache and beard and the sight was unexpected; he looked like a mature ruler now, a far cry from four years ago.

The first thing that Athos and Porthos thought of was that now it would hopefully be harder to tell that the dauphin was Aramis' son, not the king's, because one could say that they resembled each other with the dark hair, mustache, and beard.

The king noticed their surprise at his appearance, and he grinned. "Ah, you have yet to see the new me!" He licked his fingers and twirled the ends of his mustache, like Aramis sometimes did. "Well? What do you think?"

The musketeers were speechless.

Louis chuckled, before coming closer. "All humor aside, I wanted to personally thank you for your roles in winning France's war with Spain. You are true heroes, and we salute you." With that, he started to clap his hands.

Queen Anne stood from her throne and walked over, clapping as she walked.

Porthos still had his hand on Aramis' arm, and he squeezed it to remind Aramis not to stare at her.

"It wasn't just us, Your Majesty," said Athos. "Many musketeers and soldiers fought, and many gave their lives for their country."

King Louis sighed. "I know, and they will not be forgotten; their sacrifice was not in vain." He turned towards the queen. "My dear?"

Queen Anne smiled. "I am happy that all four of you have returned safely," she said, remembering how they had saved her life—more than once—before the war, and how they had stood by her against Rochefort. "A reception is planned for a week from today, where you will be recognized for your valor."

Each musketeer gave her slight bows and said 'thank you'.

"But before then, I think you're all in need of much rest," she said, looking straight at Aramis.

"And that bring us to the next part," said King Louis. "The musketeer garrison has been repaired and remodeled. Your loyalty to my queen during the incident with Rochefort deserves my eternal gratitude."

Aramis felt his face grow paler at the king's words. The _last_ thing Aramis wanted to hear out of Louis' mouth was _anything_ having to do with that situation…what if he still harbored suspicion?

"And speaking of that, Aramis," said Louis. "I have something to show you." With that, he turned and quickly headed towards the door in the corner of the room behind the thrones.

Aramis blinked, almost unsure of what he'd just heard.

Everyone looked at him, wondering what the king was talking about.

Aramis looked at Queen Anne, and was surprised at the apprehensive expression on her face. Before he had a chance to wonder why, the king came back out the door…holding a small boy.

Aramis' breath caught in his throat again and he forgot to inhale.

The king hurried over and stood before them, grinning. "He sure has grown, hasn't he?" he said.

Everyone nodded and mumbled affirmative responses, trying not to look at Aramis and make it obvious.

The young prince had a toy in his hands and paid them no heed.

"Look," said Louis, jostling him. "These are our favorite musketeers, the bravest in the land. Would you like to say something to them?"

The dauphin looked up then, and smiled shyly. "Hello," he said.

Porthos, hand still holding Aramis' arm, squeezed it in support as they all replied 'hello' back.

"You know that beauty mark that you're so proud of?" Louis said to him. "They'd like to see it."

The dauphin grinned and dropped the toy as if it meant nothing to him, before pulling up his left sleeve and displaying a birthmark on his arm.

King Louis maneuvered his hands without putting the dauphin down to pull up his own left sleeve, displaying the same mark. He then put the boy down and they watched as he picked up his toy and walked a few feet away, sitting down on the floor to play. "You needn't fear me, Aramis," Louis said quietly, so the dauphin wouldn't hear. "The matter is closed, and I apologize again, for what Rochefort put you through."

Porthos had to squeeze Aramis' arm again to get him to answer.

"As I said then, I am your humble servant," Aramis told him, his voice sounding steadier than he felt.

The king smiled. "I know, you've proven it many times over." He looked at the others. "You _all_ have. Now, do as the queen commanded, and go take some much-needed rest."

The four musketeers bowed and turned to leave. As they did, Aramis caught a glimpse of the queen's face, and the stricken expression that she was trying to hide.

Heads held high, they walked out of the room, and the instant the doors closed behind them, Aramis' knees buckled.

Athos and Porthos appeared to expect it, for they both hooked an arm under each of Aramis' almost before he dropped. Even though they knew they were hurting his still-healing wounds, they held on tightly and hefted him upright to walk as normally as he could, not wanting to draw attention to themselves.

Suddenly, they were outside, and Aramis found himself sitting on a bench as the others sat beside him or knelt in front of him.

"Aramis," Athos said, tightly gripping his good wrist. "Aramis, look at me."

Aramis stared at the ground with a dazed expression. "All that…with Rochefort…it was all for nothing…" he whispered. "All of it was for _nothing_ …"

Porthos sighed from where he sat beside his closest friend, arm around his shoulders.

"He's _not_ my son?" Aramis asked, looking at Athos.

"Apparently not," Athos answered. "And I am glad, for _your_ sake."

Aramis closed his eyes.

A hand touched his shoulder. "I'm so sorry," said Treville, whom Aramis hadn't even realized had come with them. "I had no idea that Louis was going to do that. I'm sure that he expected you to be relieved."

Aramis shook his head. "But…but the timing…and she…she _said_ that he was my son…"

"She must've really thought that he was," d'Artagnan said.

Aramis heaved a sigh.

"I know it hurts, Aramis," said Porthos. "But you're better off this way."

Athos looked around to make sure that no one was watching. "We should get back to the garrison, away from prying eyes. Come." With that, he gently pulled Aramis to his feet, being more mindful for his still-healing wounds.

Everyone watched to make sure that Aramis was steady enough to walk, and they slowly headed for their horses.

Aramis was quiet, not even watching where he was going and relying on his friends' direction. He felt completely numb, and didn't even notice that they'd reached the horses until he suddenly found himself sitting atop his own thanks to Porthos.

No one spoke as they rode away, not wanting to bombard Aramis when he was still too stunned to think clearly. They were stunned themselves, and wondered how Aramis was going to deal with the unexpected news. One thing was obvious; life after the war was going to take some getting used to…

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

It didn't take long for them to reach the garrison, and when they rode through the gate, they were all surprised at the sight.

The stairs leading up to Treville's old office and their rooms had been replaced, and the balcony was wider and went all the way around the building. The stables had been redone and were larger, and the tables had all been replaced. It was obvious that the woodwork was more durable, which meant that it had been more expensive. Everything was in perfect shape, and it was a wonderful sight to the war-weary musketeers.

Aramis was as amazed as the others, despite the unexpected news about the dauphin's parentage, and they all dismounted.

Treville was smiling. "And that's not all," he said. He walked towards the stairs and they all ascended, heading into Treville's former office. It had been completely redone and enlarged, as well as divided so that it was now two rooms instead of one; with the space in the back turned into a more private sleeping area. The bed was brand new and actually looked comfortable.

Everyone was shocked, but no one as much as Athos when he realized that it was his.

Treville was smiling. "Louis felt very guilty when he realized that everything that he thought of the musketeers—thanks to Richelieu and Rochefort—was incorrect. He wanted to make it up to us all."

"He did a good job," said Porthos as he looked around.

"Come see the rest," Treville said. "By the way, you've all moved."

"Moved?" said Porthos.

Treville nodded as they headed back into the hall, locking the door before dropping the key into Athos' hand. "Louis felt that with Athos having the captain's room now, yours all needed to be closer to it, since you're such an 'unbeatable team'. And yes, those were _his_ words." He led them past the first two rooms before opening the third. "This is yours, d'Artagnan," he said, handing him the key. "To use on the long nights when it might end up too late for you to go home to Constance."

They all walked in, to find that this room was also larger than his former room, and it too had a new bed and furnishings.

Treville lead them out and backtracked to the room before d'Artagnan's, opening the door and handing Porthos the key. They found the inside to be similar to d'Artagnan's, and then they headed to the next room.

"Saved the best for last," Treville said, before opening the door and handing the key to Aramis.

Walking inside, they found a room just as nice as the other two, but this one had something extra; a prie-dieu prayer bench.

"The king never stopped feeling guilty for what happened," said Treville. "He asked me one day what he might gift you, and this is what I suggested. When he found out that you are religious, he felt even _more_ guilty, and it arrived two days later!"

Aramis walked over to it, in shock. The prie-dieu was a thing of beauty; mahogany wood with carved, intricate designs and a royal blue cushion at its base to kneel on. The small table in front of it had candles on it and plenty of room for his Bible. He was nearly speechless as he reached out a hand to touch it, and he turned to look at Treville. "Thank you," he said, sounding dazed. "It's…it's wonderful."

Treville smiled. "I know that you'll put it to good use."

Aramis smiled back. He would indeed.

"Now," said Treville. "It's time for you all to get some rest. Louis told me that he doesn't expect to see you for two days; not until after the new uniforms arrive."

Everyone blinked.

"The new…uniforms?" d'Artagnan echoed.

Treville nodded. "King Louis was so sure that France would win this war that he told me his musketeers had to look the part; like winners. Remodeling the garrison wasn't enough; the musketeers had to be remodeled too."

No one knew what to say.

"Surprising," Porthos finally commented. "We never expected any of this."

"The king has changed," Treville told them. "During the time that you were gone, he's matured into a good, capable ruler."

"Thank God," Aramis replied.

Treville nodded. "Indeed. Now, as I said; rest. Does anyone have any serious injuries that I should know about?" He looked at Aramis as he said it.

Aramis shook his head. "Everything is healing; my wrist is the only problem now."

Treville clearly wanted to know what 'everything' meant, but he nodded before looking at the others. "Serge is feeding everyone right now, I'm sure, so I suggest that you eat before getting some sleep…and I _mean_ that; eat and sleep. You all need it."

"You won't get any argument from _us_ ," said Porthos. "These beds look pretty invitin'!"

Treville nodded, before smiling and clasping them each by the hand. "I can't tell you how happy I am that you have all returned safely. Words honestly fail me."

"We're glad to be home," d'Artagnan told him.

Treville nodded, still smiling. "I have to go back to the palace; Louis told me to return after giving you the tour…probably to ask if you like the changes."

"We do indeed," Aramis said. "Tell him that I, especially, said thank you."

Treville nodded. "I will. Now remember, all of you: eat and sleep."

"Yes, Captain," they all automatically replied, before catching themselves and chuckling.

Treville laughed with them, before leaving.

The four musketeers looked at each other, each one of them shocked at the king's unexpected generosity.

Aramis headed over to his bed and sat down, which drew the others' attention, making them suddenly remember the surprising reveal about the dauphin. They all walked over and looked at him.

"Are you all right?" d'Artagnan asked.

Aramis gave him a slight smile. "I'm fine. Go see Constance, tell her that we all said hello."

It was obvious to everyone that their youngest was itching to get home to his wife, and after studying Aramis for a few seconds, he nodded before reaching out to squeeze his shoulder. "I'll come back later," he said.

Aramis nodded, and they all watched him leave.

Porthos sat down beside Aramis, careful not to jostle his left arm. "Was that the truth?"

"Hmm?" Aramis asked.

"That you're 'fine'?"

Aramis sighed. "I…don't know."

"Don't attempt to think while you're incapable of it," said Athos. "Treville is right; food and sleep are most important right now, and food comes first. Come, let's go downstairs."

Aramis sighed. How could he eat and sleep at a time like this? He was exhausted though; his eyelids seemed too heavy to hold up, and both Athos and Porthos noticed.

"Would you rather stay here and we'll bring you some food?" Porthos asked.

Aramis felt like just locking himself in his room, but he knew that Athos was right; he was in no fit state to think clearly. With a sigh, he painfully stood, and all three of them headed for the door.

As they walked down the stairs, Serge's voice drifted up to them amongst all the others, and they couldn't help but smile, especially when Serge looked up and saw them.

The smile on the old cook's face was so joyful as they headed towards him that the three musketeers were all very touched, and they gladly hugged him.

"You're all a sight for sore eyes!" Serge exclaimed, hugging them tightly, but being gentler with Aramis when he spotted the sling supporting his left arm.

"We missed you too, Serge," Aramis told him.

Serge looked at them all for a moment before suddenly blinking. "Got somethin' in me eye," he explained, turning away with a sniff that he tried to hide.

Everyone pretended not to notice.

Serge turned back with another smile. "Sit down and eat! You all look starvin'!"

They obeyed, and weren't surprised when Serge placed what looked like a feast in front of them.

"It's good to be back!" Porthos exclaimed, digging in.

Serge sat with them and they told him some of what had gone on during the war, leaving out the worst parts. He wanted to know what had happened to Aramis' wrist, and couldn't believe that it'd been broken during the very battle that had ended the war. "Well, that's not bloody fair," he commented.

Aramis had smiled, even though talking about it had seemed to make it hurt worse. "Not fair at all," he agreed.

They were all silent for a moment, before Serge said, "Are you gonna eat that or fall asleep in it?"

Aramis blinked his eyes open—after not realizing that he'd closed them—and looked down at his plate, realizing that Serge was right, he hadn't eaten very much.

"And I thought you _liked_ my cookin'," Serge said, only half-joking. " _They_ ate seconds and thirds and you're barely at _half_ , even while you're the one who looks like he needs food the _most._ "

Aramis looked at Athos and Porthos' plates to see that they indeed had eaten seconds—and Porthos thirds. He had to come up with a believable reason for not eating, considering that Serge didn't know his situation with the dauphin, and answered, "Sorry, Serge, it's delicious, but you know how pain can rob someone of their appetite." It wasn't untrue, at least.

Serge's expression softened. "I do indeed. Poor lad," he said. "Can't eat another bite?"

Aramis looked at his plate and contemplated it, before shaking his head. "No. I'm sorry."

"That's all right…for _now_ ," Serge said. He stood and gently pulled Aramis to his feet before looking at the other two. "I'll get this one to his room, I'm sure you two wanna look around a bit." Without waiting for an answer, he guided Aramis towards the stairs.

Athos and Porthos watched them go, before looking at each other and sharing a sigh.

"This is the _last_ thing he needed," said Porthos, referring to the unexpected news about the dauphin. "Especially now. How's he supposed to get healthy again with _that_ on his mind?"

"We're going to have to convince him that this is, in fact, the best news he could've received," said Athos.

"But you heard what he said," Porthos whispered. "It was all for nothin'. He felt guilty for what happened to Marguerite as it is…now this?"

Athos shook his head. "Aramis couldn't've known what was going to happen. Her death was ultimately Rochefort's fault."

Porthos nodded. "Right, but Aramis blames himself for getting her involved in the first place."

"I know," Athos said, with a sigh. "Nothing can help him but time."

"And us," Porthos told him.

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

Once up the stairs, Serge lead Aramis into his room.

"You seem more than just tired," Serge noticed. "Somethin' botherin' ya?"

Aramis sighed; he wasn't about to tell Serge about his situation with the dauphin...and not because he didn't trust him. No one else needed to share his burden, or end up in potential danger from the knowledge...although, it seemed that there was no more danger to fear, now that the dauphin was the king's son after all...

"Aramis?"

The tug on his sword belt got Aramis' attention, and he realized that he was sitting in a chair as Serge tried to get his weapons off.

"There you are," said Serge, looking worried. He got Aramis' belt undone and carefully pulled the weapons away, resting them on the small table.

"Apologies," Aramis said, remembering Serge's question. "I'm all right, considering. The war was...very hard."

Serge nodded, remembering what Aramis had gone through in Savoy. With an inward shudder, he wondered if there had been any winter battles during all that time; the last thing Aramis needed to see was dead bodies in the snow. "I woulda come with ya if I could," he said.

Aramis smiled at him. Serge was well past his prime, but he had been an excellent musketeer in his day. He suddenly realized that Serge was unbuttoning his jacket for him. "You don't have to help me, I'm fine," he said.

Serge made a face at him as if he knew that he was lying. "I may be gettin' old, but I'm not blind. How are you supposed to do all this with a broken wrist?"

That was true. Aramis realized that Serge _wanted_ to help him, perhaps to alleviate some misguided guilt at not being able to help them fight the war. He submitted, carefully holding his bad arm while Serge took off his sling and carefully got the jacket sleeve off. Aramis tried to hold in a wince, but didn't completely succeed.

There was a sudden knock on his door, and Serge yelled, "Come in!"

A couple of boys that Aramis didn't know came in with huge buckets of water, and Aramis was puzzled.

Serge blinked. "You didn't hear me tell them to bring up bath water on our way up? You need sleep even more than I thought."

"Bath water?" Aramis echoed, watching as the boys carried them to the far side of the room behind a screen.

"There's a tub back there," said Serge. "The king really went all out for you four when he remodeled the place."

Aramis was stunned.

"No more goin' to the bath house for _you_ ," said Serge. "You get to live in the lap of luxury."

Aramis couldn't help it; he chuckled at that.

Serge smiled. "There, _that's_ the sound I've been waitin' for."

The boys came and went as many times as they needed to in order to fill the tub, and Serge helped Aramis get his shirt off. He was surprised to see the scars that were obviously new and the still-healing gunshot wound.

Aramis said nothing about them; he simply heaved himself out of the chair—with obvious effort—and headed over to the screen. Behind it was the tub and a small armoire that contained towels and soaps.

"The king really had a lot to make up for," said Serge. "The four of you and the captain weren't treated very well thanks to Richelieu and Rochefort."

Serge would know that even without hearing of the situation regarding the dauphin's parentage, so Aramis nodded.

Serge went back around the screen so Aramis would have the privacy that he needed to remove the rest of his clothes and get into the tub, which Aramis quickly did. The hot water was like a balm to his body and mind, and he sighed and closed his eyes.

"You in?" Serge called.

"Yes," Aramis answered.

Serge came back around the screen carrying a chair, which he placed beside the tub on Aramis' left. "Rest your arm on this."

Aramis obeyed, carefully laying his splinted wrist on the chair. "Thank you," he said.

Serge nodded. "Now don't you fall asleep in there."

"I'll try not to," Aramis answered.

Serge smiled. "I'll be back to make sure."

Aramis smiled back and watched as he walked away. Closing his eyes, he felt himself start to drift off immediately, so he forced himself to one-handedly wash his hair first and soap himself up before he relaxed again. He was so tired that he could hardly think; the scene in the throne room felt like it had been a dream, not reality. He couldn't comprehend it and didn't try to; he hadn't the strength to deal with it right now, mental _or_ physical.

A sudden knock sounded and Aramis' eyes popped open. He realized that he'd drifted off and he had no idea how much time had passed.

Serge suddenly appeared. "I told ya not to fall asleep in there."

Aramis gave him a sheepish smile. "I tried."

Serge shook his head and disappeared before returning with nightclothes, which he placed on the chair after Aramis removed his arm from it.

Aramis carefully washed what was exposed of his hand and forearm around the splint, before getting out of the tub and wrapping a towel around himself. It wasn't easy with the splint around his left wrist, but he managed. Afterwards, though, he was so exhausted that he had to sit down on the chair to try to regain some strength.

"Are you decent?" Serge's voice called.

Aramis chuckled. "You could say that."

Serge reappeared, and went *tsk tsk*. "Do I have to do everythin'?" he joked, picking up the nightclothes.

Aramis laughed again and reached out his hand to take them. "I can manage."

Serge chuckled too before leaving him to it.

A clean body and clean clothes were a relief to Aramis, and he tiredly came out from behind the screen to find Serge poking the fire that he'd lit.

Serge turned to look at him. "That's better," he said, relieved to see Aramis looking more human.

Aramis nodded and headed for the bed, climbing in and settling with a wince.

Serge came over and looked at him. "Anythin' else I can do?"

Aramis, eyes closed, shook his head. "No. Thank you for your help."

"Anytime, Aramis," Serge said. "Sleep well." He turned to go, before stopping and looking at him again. "There's somethin' that _you_ can do for _me."_

Aramis reopened his eyes. "Anything."

"Stop carryin' the weight of the world on your shoulders," Serge told him.

Aramis sighed.

"We all know how skilled you are, Aramis," Serge continued. "In another life, you'd have been the world's greatest physician. You put everyone's lives before your own, and if you can't fix everyone and everything, you blame yourself."

Serge was right, and Aramis wasn't surprised at all that he'd accurately discerned one of the things that weighed heavily upon his mind.

"God gave you a natural talent that everyone else needs to be _taught_ ," Serge continued. "The soldiers that died in the war didn't do so because you weren't good enough; they died because God took them. The ones who _survived_ did so because of you; because you used the skill that God gifted you with."

Aramis had to swallow against the lump that suddenly appeared in his throat.

Serve grasped his shoulder, careful not to put his hand near the still-healing gunshot wound in his upper arm. "I never had a son. If I did, I'd hope that he'd be like you."

Aramis was shocked at that, and almost lost the battle with his emotions. _I thought_ _I_ _had a son,_ he thought.

"You should be proud of yourself, Aramis," Serge said. "Everyone _else_ is proud."

Aramis managed to rein in his emotions, and smiled. "Thanks, Serge...that means a lot to me."

Serge smiled and gently squeezed his shoulder. "Good. Now go to sleep."

Aramis nodded, closed his eyes, and was asleep before the cook even left.

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

" _Papa!"_

 _Aramis smiled as he reached down to lift up his son, who ran over to him excitedly. "What's that you have there?" he asked, as if he didn't know._

 _The little boy giggled. "It's a baby cat, papa!"_

 _Aramis smiled. His son was indeed cradling a kitten born to one of the stable cats. "I can see that," he said._

" _Then why did you ask?" said the boy._

" _Why not?" Aramis answered, as he carried him over to the garrison table that he and his three friends had long-ago claimed as their own. He sat on the bench with his son on his lap, and scratched the kitten under its chin as it purred._

 _His son giggled. "Can I keep it?"_

 _Aramis nodded. "I'm sure your mother won't mind."_

 _The boy wrapped his little arms around Aramis. "I love you, papa!"_

A sudden noise woke Aramis, and his eyes popped open.

Porthos was standing over him, and he made a contrite face. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake you."

Aramis was confused. _How did I get here? Where is my son?_ He quickly sat up, not even knowing what he was doing.

Porthos grabbed him by the shoulders. "Whoa, whoa, what's wrong?"

Pain shot through Aramis' left wrist and traveled up his arm, and he looked at it to see the splint. All at once, he remembered everything and realized that he'd been dreaming.

Porthos didn't like the look of sadness that suddenly overcame his friend's face, and he quickly sat on the bed and pulled Aramis against himself in a one-armed hug. It wasn't hard to guess what Aramis was thinking of, so Porthos said nothing, letting his closeness lend his friend some comfort.

Aramis sighed as he leaned against him. "I never expected it," he said.

"Me neither," said Porthos, knowing exactly what he was referring to.

Aramis winced as he carefully shifted his left arm and closed his eyes. "All this time, I believed that he was my son."

"I know," Porthos said, sympathetically.

"Everything that happened was all for nothing!" Aramis said, closing his eyes. "That's the hardest thing to believe. When the king announced that the queen was with child, I was stunned. She looked at me, Porthos, in the throne room. Then, all those months of keeping the truth from you and d'Artagnan…it was so hard…I never wanted to keep a secret from you. It was more than the queen's reputation that I was trying to protect; I needed to protect _you_ from whatever punishment I was risking to myself. It was bad enough that _Athos_ was in danger from the knowledge."

"I know," Porthos said again.

"And then," said Aramis. "When the dauphin was born and I realized that _my son_ would become the future king of France…it was overwhelming. When I saw him the day that Marguerite walked by holding him, I was drawn to him like a moth to a flame. I couldn't stay away…I couldn't." He sighed heavily. "I never, _ever_ thought that harm might come to Marguerite; I was so blinded by desperation to see my son…to hold him in my arms…"

Porthos squeezed him tighter.

"Then when Rochefort found out and I was arrested…I was afraid, Porthos, as I sat in that cell," Aramis said. "He told me that I was to die upon the wheel."

Porthos had heard all of this before, but a shiver still shot down his spine, and he opened his mouth to tell Aramis not to think of it, not to speak of it, but he stopped himself, realizing that Aramis had to get it all out.

"I never expected Milady of all people to help me escape," Aramis said. Then he suddenly chuckled. "She called it a 'rescue'."

Porthos chuckled too.

Aramis turned somber again. "To come back four years later and find out that he's not my son after all…I don't even know _how_ I should feel."

"Feel _relieved_ , Aramis," Porthos told him. "Now, you don't have to watch him from afar knowing that you can never claim him as your son. Now, you don't have to worry ever again that new suspicion will arise. Now, you don't owe him anything but your allegiance."

Aramis said nothing.

"It's normal to be upset," said Porthos. "You just fought a war and barely escaped with your life, and you came home to experience a shock. But look at this from a different point of view; you're truly free now, Aramis."

"You're right, I know," Aramis answered. "But the thought of having a son…" He sighed. "All the times that I held him in my arms and thought he was mine…I quieted him when he cried, I sang to him, I held his tiny fist in my hand…" His breath hitched and he had to stop.

Porthos sighed and squeezed him even tighter, if that was possible. "It's all right to be sad, even though I wish you weren't. Just get it out and you'll feel better."

Aramis was quiet for a few minutes, though he couldn't hide the sniffs. When he pulled away from his friend, Porthos took a handkerchief out of his pocket and held it up near Aramis' nose. "Blow," he said.

Aramis shot him a look of shock. "What?"

"You only have one usable arm," Porthos said.

Aramis stared incredulously, before he started to laugh.

Porthos laughed too, and neither of them could stop for a moment.

Aramis eventually took the handkerchief and wiped his eyes before blowing his nose one-handed. "What would I do without you, my friend?" he asked.

Porthos shook his head. "That's somethin' you'll _never_ have to worry about."

Aramis smiled and clasped his friend's arm. "I'm blessed to have you."

Porthos nodded. "That's right! Now, go back to sleep; ten hours wasn't long enough."

"I slept for ten hours?" Aramis asked, shocked.

"Give or take a few minutes," Porthos said, as he pushed him back to lie down. "It's not morning yet. Sleep."

Aramis yawned and closed his eyes, not surprised when Porthos pull the covers up to his chin. He was going to say 'goodnight', but fell back to sleep before he had the chance.

TBC


	6. Chapter 6

Whispered voices were the next thing Aramis heard, and he opened his eyes to find sunlight streaming through the window...and a woman inside his room, quietly closing the door. Before he had time to wonder who it was, she turned.

"Constance," he said, stiffly trying to sit up.

A smile lit up her face, and she hurried over to the bed and gently hugged him. "It's so good to see you, Aramis!" she exclaimed.

Aramis smiled and wrapped his good arm around her. "Likewise, my fair maiden."

Constance giggled before pulling out of the hug. "How are you feeling?" she asked, looking him over.

"Better," he said.

Constance sat on the side of the bed and carefully touched the splint that immobilized his left wrist and hand. "Does a doctor need to look at this?"

Aramis shook his head. "It happened a week ago and has been properly set. See?" he wiggled his fingers slightly, trying to hide the pain that it caused.

"By yourself?" she asked, somberly.

"Mostly," said Aramis, wincing at the memory. "Though I did require Athos' assistance."

Constance sighed. "I feel awful, what you've been through," she looked away from the splint and into his eyes.

Aramis knew that she was referring to the situation with the dauphin. He sighed. "I'll survive, Constance..." He shrugged. "Somehow."

She gave him a sympathetic smile, before squeezing his good hand and reaching behind him to stand up the pillows. "Would you like something to drink?" she asked, pushing him back against them.

Aramis suddenly realized something. "Did they send you here to play nursemaid?"

"Well…you slept for fourteen hours," Constance said. "That's unnatural, for a _healthy_ person. It was decided not to leave you alone."

Aramis wasn't surprised to hear that. "Where has everyone gone?"

"To speak to Treville," said Constance. "He wanted details on…well…everything."

That didn't surprise Aramis either. He took a deep breath and let it out heavily, not realizing that he'd closed his eyes until a hand suddenly touched his forehead and he reopened them.

"No fever," Constance said. "But you don't look well."

"I'm fine," Aramis told her.

She made a face at him. "How many times have I heard _that_?"

Aramis smiled. "Too many, I imagine."

"Indeed!" Constance stood from the bed. "You must be hungry…I'll get you something to eat. Swear that you won't get out of that bed."

Aramis smiled again. "I swear."

She shot him a stern look as she headed for the door and left.

Aramis sighed again and closed his eyes. The long sleep had to have done him some good, but he didn't feel much better; his body was still a mass of aches—especially his broken wrist—and he was still tired. He knew that it would be a while before he was back to how he'd been before the war, and the thought was depressing.

He must've fallen asleep again, for he was startled when the door opened and Constance came back in.

"You kept your promise?" she asked.

"I didn't move an inch," Aramis answered.

"Good," she said, placing a tray over his lap which contained soup and freshly-baked bread. "Something told me that you wouldn't appreciate anything heavier than this," she said.

Aramis nodded. "You are very wise."

Constance smiled and walked off as he ate, tidying up the room.

The soup was delicious and Aramis ate every bite.

When Constance saw that he was finished, she came over and took the tray. "Feeling stronger?" she asked.

Aramis nodded.

"Good," she said again. "That's what you need for now: sleep and food."

"I _need_ to go see the captain—I mean, Minister Treville," Aramis told her.

"No you don't," she answered. "The others can tell the story without you."

"But I belong there," he said.

Constance sighed. "I was told to keep you in bed."

"By Athos?"

She nodded.

"Then I'm sure he said to ' _try_ ' to keep me in bed," Aramis said. "You tried!"

Constance rolled her eyes.

Ten minutes later, Aramis was dressed and ready to leave, after allowing Constance to help him with his shirt and jacket.

"This would be a bad time for your husband to walk in," he'd teased, getting a laugh out of her.

Aramis left his room and headed to the door on his left, opening it quietly and poking his head inside.

Four faces turned to look, and each one displayed relief.

"I told Constance to keep you in bed," Athos mock-scolded.

"She tried her best," Aramis said.

Porthos gasped. "Did you hear that, d'Artagnan? Your _wife_ tried to—"

Aramis smacked him with his good hand. "Porthos, you should be ashamed of yourself!"

D'Artagnan laughed, standing to retrieve a chair for their tardy friend.

Treville quietly smiled as he watched them. His delight to have them all back alive and well was still evident.

Aramis pointedly looked at Treville sitting behind what was now Athos' desk, while Athos sat in front of it with the others.

"I insisted," Athos told him.

Aramis smiled, not surprised.

"You weren't obligated to come," Treville said. "From what I've been told so far, you still have some recovering to do."

Aramis sighed, shifting his position slightly. "As I said, _this_ is the main problem right now," he told him, gesturing to the sling encasing his left arm. "I got a lot of sleep last night; I feel better."

Treville knew that one good night's sleep wasn't enough to heal a body _or_ a mind, but he nodded anyway.

"Have you eaten?" Athos asked.

Aramis nodded. "Constance fed me." He smiled at d'Artagnan. "She makes an excellent nursemaid."

D'Artagnan smiled back.

Satisfied that Aramis was in acceptable shape, considering, the four musketeers continued giving their report to Treville. They took a break at lunchtime, and headed outside to eat.

Now that Aramis wasn't as tired as the previous day, it truly struck him that they were home, and he hesitated at the bottom of the stairs.

Porthos stopped and looked at him, watching as Aramis glanced around at the garrison. It was as if they'd never left.

Aramis looked at Porthos and smiled. "We're truly home," he said.

Porthos nodded. " _All_ of us." He wrapped an arm around his friend's shoulders and walked with him over to the table, where Serge was serving the food.

"Well, you're lookin' better," Serge said to Aramis.

Aramis smiled. "I should hope so, after sleeping for fourteen hours."

Serge smiled and patted his shoulder. "Make sure you get fourteen _more_ ," he said, as he left.

Aramis looked at his friends. "Do I look _that_ bad?"

Athos' impassive expression gave nothing away, and d'Artagnan seemed to be a little too busy cutting his meat.

"Well..." said Porthos.

Aramis gave an incredulous sound. "Thank you for the vote of confidence!"

D'Artagnan laughed. "We're joking."

"You could stand to put on some weight, though," Porthos told him, dropping a huge piece of meat onto his plate. "Eat!"

Aramis shook his head with amusement, before stabbing the meat with his fork and raising the whole thing, since he couldn't cut it with only one functioning arm.

"You could've cut it for him, at least," said d'Artagnan, shaking his head and motioning for Aramis to slide his plate over.

Aramis plopped the meat back onto his plate and complied, as Porthos chuckled.

Athos watched them silently, though he had a slight smile on his face. It was wonderful to see them home, safe and happy. The responsibility of getting them all out of the war alive had been mentally crushing, and the relief he felt now was so strong that he couldn't even put it into words.

D'Artagnan slid Aramis' plate back over to him and nodded when Aramis thanked him.

The food was good, and they didn't speak much as they ate, relishing the luxury of a full meal after four years of not having enough food.

Aramis got full too quickly, and at his friends' disapproving looks, tried to eat more.

"As much as we would like for you to finish all of that," Athos said. "You don't want to make yourself ill."

Aramis nodded. His stomach had definitely shrunk, especially since he'd given most of his food to his patients as he tried to keep them alive. He ate one more bite before putting his fork down. "I'll do better tomorrow," he told them. He leaned back in his seat with a wince that he failed to hide.

"How's the pain?" d'Artagnan asked, gesturing to his arm.

"Improving," Aramis told him.

"He's lying," Porthos mumbled, his mouth full. He looked at Aramis and finished chewing, before pointing at his friend with his fork. "That's your 'pain face'."

Aramis blinked. "My 'pain face'?"

D'Artagnan nodded. "You have a 'pain face'."

Aramis looked at Athos. "They _are_ joking?"

Athos shook his head. "No, they're absolutely right."

Aramis was surprised to hear that from all three of them. "And what exactly is my 'pain face'?"

"You squint," all three of them said in unison.

"Not really a _full_ squint like when the sun is blinding," said d'Artagnan. "But the outside of your eyes crinkle."

"Like a half-squint," said Porthos.

"Exactly," Athos agreed.

Aramis smiled and shook his head when he realized that they were right, that's exactly what he was doing. He leaned back into the post that stood behind him and forced his eyes open all the way. "I didn't realize." He sighed. "There's no reason to worry for me…the pain will lessen with time."

All three of them studied him for a moment, wondering if he was only talking about his _physical_ pain.

"Are you all right otherwise?" Athos bluntly asked.

Aramis knew exactly what he meant, and he sighed again. "I will be."

The others had no choice but to accept his words…whether they believed him or not.

TBC


	7. Chapter 7

A wagon approached the garrison gate and rode inside, where it came to a stop near the stairs. Treville and a man climbed out and approached the table. "Here they are," Treville said to the stranger, gesturing to the four musketeers.

When the others realize that they were being addressed, they all stood from the table.

"This is Monsieur Lemieux," Treville told them. "The clothier whom King Louis employed to create the new musketeer uniforms."

Lemieux gave them a humble bow. "I am honored to meet the brave men who risked their lives to defend the honor of France. The king told me so much about you that I'm sure that I can guess exactly which of you is who."

All four of them looked at each other with surprise at that.

"I hope all of you will be pleased with the new uniforms," Lemieux said. "I'm here to do a fitting, if you're all up to it." He eyed Aramis' sling.

D'Artagnan flashed a smile. He was eager to see what they looked like. "Now works for me."

The other three all nodded.

"Do you want to go first?" Treville asked Aramis. "So you can rest afterwards without having to wait your turn?"

Aramis doubted that he would go back to bed after, but he nodded anyway and waited as the clothier took out the boxes that he saw had his name on them.

"Am I right?" Lemieux asked.

Aramis nodded with a smile. "Indeed you are."

The clothier nodded and followed Aramis towards his room.

"Need help?" Porthos asked his friend.

Treville put out his hand. "I'll help him if he needs it." He followed Aramis and the clothier.

"I don't think he wants us to see each other in the new uniforms until they're finished," d'Artagnan commented.

Porthos eyed the clothier's cart where the other boxes remained. "What's stoppin' us from havin' a look?"

Athos looked at him. " _Porthos_."

Porthos held up both hands. "All right, all right, I can wait!"

They were lucky that Treville and the clothier didn't hear them as they climbed the stairs. Once inside Aramis' room, Lemieux started opening the boxes while Treville helped Aramis with his sling and jacket.

"Sizes were a problem," Treville told him. "I know what it's like to spend time away at war, so I knew that you'd all likely come back thinner."

Aramis nodded; it made perfect sense, and it was true.

Lemieux finished getting the tops off the boxes, and Aramis was glad to see that the king had kept him in his usual brown, with the pants dark enough to match the new doublet, which he could see peeking out of its box.

The pants ended up needing to be taken in a little, but the length was perfect. The boots had much less of a top fold, which suited Aramis just fine, as the bigger flaps often got in his way and he was considering replacing them anyway.

Finally, Lemieux took out the doublet, and looked at it before eyeing Aramis' splinted wrist. "This is going to need a temporary alteration," he said, before sitting in a chair with it on his lap.

Aramis sat on his bed and waited, and the softness of the mattress suddenly made him want to take a nap.

"Tired?" Treville asked.

Aramis opened his eyes, not realizing that he'd closed them. "Yes," he admitted. He certainly couldn't say 'no' after being caught with his eyes closed.

Treville gave him a sympathetic smile.

The tailor finished a moment later and brought the doublet over to Aramis, holding it out for him to put his arms through.

Aramis was surprised at its length. "It's shorter," he said, as he stood.

Treville nodded as he helped him get his splinted wrist inside the sleeve, which managed to fit thanks to Lemieux taking out the hem in the forearm. "Louis made all of them short, so the musketeer troupe would look uniform."

Aramis understood. He let Treville fasten the latches for him, which he realize was going to be a challenge with his wrist in the splint, especially since they were individual buckles rather than clasps.

Once Treville was finished, he stepped back. "Do you like it?"

Aramis looked down at it, running his hand along the soft leather. "Yes, I do...even with it short."

Treville smiled. "That's a relief. I know how much you like your long jacket."

Aramis nodded. With the war behind them and the surprising reveal about the dauphin, everything was different now. "New life, new uniform."

Treville understood exactly what he meant, and gave his shoulder a squeeze.

Lemieux fussed around Aramis, checking all the seams and the length. He mumbled softly to himself about the changes that needed to be made, including taking it in as it was a little too big.

Treville had to hold out Aramis' bad arm for him so Lemieux could check the length of the sleeve, and Aramis had to hold his breath, as moving his arm so much was increasing the pain.

"I'm sorry," Treville said, as he gently folded Aramis' arm in so Aramis could take hold of it after.

Aramis shook his head. "I'm fine." The way he held his arm contradicted his words.

"I still have the sling that I used after LeBarge dislocated my shoulder," Treville told him. "It would give you more support and likely be more comfortable than the fabric you're using."

Aramis hadn't even thought of that. "That would be very welcome," he said.

Treville nodded. "Rest. I'll be back."

Aramis sat down on his bed again as Treville saw Lemieux to the door and they both left, taking the boxes with them. Aramis shifted to recline upright against his pillow, in an effort to keep himself awake. He dozed off anyway, and woke again when he heard his door open.

Treville came over to the bed and sat down, helping Aramis get his arm into the sling and looping the strap around his neck for him. "It's adjustable," he said. "Like a belt buckle." Since Aramis was taller than he was, Treville took hold of the strap and lengthened it to level Aramis' arm straighter. "How's that?"

"Better," Aramis said. There was less tension in his muscles now that his arm was stable. He sighed with relief. "Thank you."

Treville smiled with a nod.

Aramis suddenly yawned and reached up to cover his mouth. "Excuse me. I can't believe I'm still tired."

"I'm not surprised," Treville said. "Rest. You'll be fighting-fit again soon." He reached over to help Aramis lie flat.

Aramis endured Treville's fussing, knowing how relieved he was to have them home again. He sighed and closed his eyes, and felt Treville squeeze his shoulder before he left.

Sleep didn't come quickly to Aramis this time...his thoughts immediately strayed to the dauphin, and the news that he wasn't his son. He was still so shocked that he didn't know how to handle it...though he was glad to have found out now, after four years of being separated. If he'd had to watch him grow and actually been able to form some kind of relationship with him, and _then_ found out...he would've been devastated.

The more pressing thing that weighed on Aramis' mind was everything that had happened as a result of thinking that the child was his. Marguerite might still be alive, Athos would never have had to carry the dangerous secret, and Porthos, d'Artagnan, and Treville would never have been endangered by the knowledge later...

Aramis sighed and put a hand over his face. _Why why why?_ he asked himself.

A sudden sound got his attention, and Aramis opened his eyes. He realized that he'd fallen asleep after all, and felt groggy as he looked towards the door. It was darker in his room, and Aramis was surprised to find that he'd slept until sunset.

"Hey," said the disembodied head of Porthos that had poked into the room. "We're going to the tavern. Wanna come, or would you rather rest?"

A tavern was exactly where Aramis wanted to go; just like before the war, before Rochefort, before the convent…before all the trouble had began. "I'm coming," he said, throwing the covers back.

Porthos came inside and spotted his sling. "Hey, that was Treville's. Does it help?"

Aramis nodded as he stood. "Yes, much."

Porthos was glad. He helped Aramis with his jacket and they left his room and headed outside.

The four musketeers decided to walk, not feeling like riding after their recent long journey home. Porthos stuck to Aramis' side, and Aramis could see that he was in 'protection mode'. He wasn't surprised at all; trouble had befallen them many times on the same walk, and Aramis wouldn't be much help with an arm in a sling.

Stepping into the tavern, a feeling of contentment swept over each of them at the familiarity. It almost seemed as if no time had passed at all as they headed towards the tables. The noise and bustle had a calming effect on each musketeer, as it represented normalcy. They could almost forget everything that had happened as they sat down and looked around.

A barmaid spotted them and brought them each a goblet of wine. When she saw Aramis' sling, she made a sympathetic face. "Oh, you poor darling! Did you just come back from the war?"

Aramis smiled gallantly. "Alas, I have, my lady...some wine would help me much."

She handed him the first goblet. "I'll bring you a bottle!" She started to walk away before remembering that Aramis wasn't the only one at the table, and handing out their goblets too.

Aramis immediately drank his, before putting the goblet down with a sigh of delight. There hadn't been much wine to drink during the war. When he looked up, he was startled at his friends' expressions.

They were all staring at him…and they were smiling.

"What?" Aramis asked.

"It's nice to see you back in action," Porthos said, with a chuckle. "Now I _know_ we're home!"

"I'll drink to that!" d'Artagnan said, raising his goblet.

Porthos laughed and raised his own, clicking them together.

Athos said nothing, simply looking at Aramis with his trademark slight smile. Aramis realized that Athos looked different; lighter, able to relax. A sudden memory from the war filled his mind…hearing Athos' voice telling him that he was sorry, that he should've left him safely at the monastery rather than drag him off to war. Aramis remembered trying to reply, but not having the strength to even open his eyes after being shot and collapsing from blood loss.

Aramis knew that he'd changed since the situation with Rochefort, and realized that his short flirtation with the barmaid had been a sight for sore eyes to his friends. He returned Athos' smile and held up his goblet. "To a new future, and a closed door to the past."

Athos raised his goblet too. "Hear, hear."

TBC


	8. Chapter 8

When Aramis woke the next morning, he was momentarily confused; forgetting for a moment that he was back home in Paris. Once he opened his eyes and looked around his room, it all came back to him. He was still surprised by the king's generosity, and it was incredible how different things had turned out after the trouble that Rochefort had caused.

A shudder passed through Aramis at the thought, and he closed his eyes with a sigh, before remembering what he'd said to Athos in the tavern the night before: _To a new future, and a closed door to the past._ He had no doubt that Rochefort was in hell, suffering the eternal punishment for his sins.

Reopening his eyes, he rose from his bed, and the first thing he saw was the pre-dieu bench. He walked over to it and knelt on the soft, blue cushion, clutching the gold cross that hung from his neck.

 _I know that I've thanked you for the survival of myself and my friends many times,_ Aramis prayed. _But I thank you again, Lord, not only for our survival during the war, but for our safe return home. I ask that you bless King Louis, for his humility in making amends to us when he did not need to._

Aramis paused, not sure what to say about the dauphin.

 _I also thank you, Almighty God, for your mercy and forgiveness regarding my indiscretion with the queen. I was shocked to learn that he is not my son, and even though it is painful to realize, Porthos is right that I should be relieved. I just...pray that you'll help me feel it._ He sighed. _The royal bloodline has not been tarnished, and everyone involved is now safe; that is all that truly matters._

Aramis opened his eyes, still unable to believe that all of the trouble was truly over.

A loud laugh suddenly bellowed through the air, and after finishing his prayer, Aramis crossed to the window and spotted his friends sitting at their usual table. It didn't take long for one of them to look at his window, and he waved.

A second later, all three of them were looking up, and Porthos made the 'come outside!' motion with his hand.

Aramis dressed as quickly as he could, finding that his broken wrist was hurting less. Relieved at that, he went outside just in time for Serge to bring him a plate.

"Thank you," he said, realizing that he was starving.

"Ya better eat it _all_ this time!" Serge commanded.

Aramis chuckled. "When you return, this plate will be empty."

Serge smiled and walked off.

The day was pleasantly warm, and everyone waited for Aramis to take a few bites before they spoke.

"How's your arm?" asked Porthos.

"Doing better," Aramis said. "It's not hurting as much."

Porthos saw that Aramis had less of a 'pain face', and smiled. "Finally."

Aramis nodded as he chewed.

"The tailor is here," said d'Artagnan. "We'll have our new uniforms today, as soon as you finish eating."

Aramis was surprised. "The whole garrison? He finished the alterations already?"

"No," said d'Artagnan. "Just us four, apparently. The rest of the musketeers will have theirs the day before the celebration."

"Mine didn't need any alterations," said Porthos.

"Mine either," said d'Artagnan.

"Mine were slight," said Athos.

Aramis nodded. "Mine needed some, obviously," he said, gesturing to the sling.

Everyone nodded and quietly watched him eat, trying to gauge his condition—and not just physically.

Eventually, Aramis got full before he could finish eating.

"You told Serge that you would eat it all," Porthos reminded him.

Aramis shook his head. "No I didn't."

Porthos blinked. "Yes you did. You said—"

"That his plate would be empty," Athos cut in.

"I never said that _I_ would be the one to eat it all," Aramis said, pushing his plate towards Porthos. "Still hungry?"

Porthos' laugh bellowed through the garrison. "You know that I would do anythin' for ya, Aramis, but this time, you're on your own. How're you 'sposed to get back to your old self if you don't eat enough?" He eyed his friend's plate. "Though, I'm _always_ hungry..."

D'Artagnan laughed.

Aramis was saved from having to finish the food by the arrival of Treville and Lemieux. The four of them stood from the table as they approached, and Porthos grabbed the last biscuit off Aramis' plate and stuffed it into his mouth whole when no one was looking.

"Good morning!" Lemieux exclaimed, obviously eager to give them their finished uniforms. "Upstairs with you; in a few minutes, you'll all have a new outlook on life!"

Everyone shot Aramis a glance at that, and he gave them an encouraging smile in return. They were glad to see that he appeared to be bouncing back to his usual self—outwardly, at least—and they helped Lemieux carry the boxes up the stairs.

Aramis was only allowed to carry one thing; a smaller box that Treville handed to him with a smile.

Aramis wondered what was in it as they made it to his room. It looked like it might contain a hat, and Aramis had mixed feelings about that. He loved his hat, but thanks to the war, it had seen far better days. It was time for a new one, and he was slightly nervous as he wondered what this one looked like.

Everyone vanished into their own rooms and Treville went with Aramis into his, putting the boxes down on the bed. He took the hat box from Aramis and placed it with the others, before helping Aramis with his sling.

Ten minutes later, Aramis was dressed in his new uniform, pleased to find that Lemieux had done an excellent job with it. The fit was perfect, and Aramis looked at the hat box a little apprehensively.

Treville opened it, took out the hat, and handed it to him.

Aramis took it with surprise to see that it wasn't much different than his old one. The brim was a little smaller, but the color was nearly the same and it contained his trademark feather. He smiled and put it on, finding it to be just as comfortable as his old one. Looking at Treville, he saw that he was holding out a new sash. It was a brilliant blue of a slightly different shade, and it matched perfectly. "You thought of everything," he said, knowing that Treville had been the one to give Lemieux all of the details on each of his men.

Treville chuckled and helped him get it on.

Aramis turned to look into the mirror, but a hand on his arm stopped him.

"One more piece," Treville said.

Aramis turned again to find Treville holding out a new pauldron, more ornate and decorate than his old one...as well as something else that nearly made his jaw drop open; a piece of armor, made of the same thick material, that crossed over to cover the left side of his chest over his heart...and adorning it was a beautiful cross, with lines coming out from it resembling light.

Treville smiled as Aramis reached out his right hand to touch it.

"It's beautiful," Aramis said. He looked up at him with an amazed expression. "Whose idea was this?"

"The queen's," Treville told him.

 _Anne's._ Aramis' hand shook a little as he ran his hand over the cross. "I'm overwhelmed," he said, shaking his head.

Treville nodded, not surprised at all. He stepped forward and slid the pauldron up Aramis' arm before buckling it and fastening the other piece on. He reached to grab Aramis' sling off the table, but Aramis shook his head, not wanting it to ruin the effect.

Finally, Aramis turned towards the mirror.

Thoughts flew through his mind, one after the other; remembering how young he'd been when he'd become a musketeer, the danger he'd faced through the years, the lives he'd saved, the lives he'd been forced to take. He'd made the truest friends that a man could ever have…and then he'd almost lost it all. After that, he'd faced a war that nearly killed him several times, and yet, he'd somehow survived it all, to stand there today.

Treville watched as Aramis stared at his reflection. He saw the different emotions that flitted across his face, and reached out to touch his shoulder.

Aramis turned to look at him.

"Everything is fine now, Aramis," Treville told him. " _Everything_."

He was right, and Aramis knew it. France was now entering a new era, and life had changed for the better, for _all_ of them. He nodded, before looking in the mirror again.

"Do you like it?" Treville asked.

Aramis looked at him again with a smile. "It's perfect."

Treville smiled back, and they headed for the door, finding everyone else waiting in the hall. When they looked at Aramis, each of them displayed a look of shock. It was obvious that they didn't know which difference to remark on first.

"Well, look at _you_!" Porthos finally exclaimed. His new uniform was elaborate like his old one, but had more color.

D'Artagnan's was black and charcoal gray; very different than his usual ginger-brown, and it suited him. "Aramis, that's amazing!" said d'Artagnan, sounding awed as he stepped forward and touched the addition to his pauldron. "And your doublet is short!"

Aramis was nearly speechless at a difference on _him_. "You have a hat!"

D'Artagnan chuckled and looked up at the brim above his eyes. "I guess I need one for _formal_ situations, but I'm sure it'll get lost if I wear it every day…I'll put it down and forget about it!"

Athos was quiet, but smiling. His uniform was black, and the fleur-de-lis on his pauldron was gold.

They all just looked at each other for a few seconds, before Aramis suddenly felt choked up. The past five years had been hell...he blamed himself for nearly getting his friends killed during the situation with Rochefort, then they fought a horrific war...and yet here they all were; alive and well, with all of the terrible danger far behind them.

Porthos saw the emotions on Aramis' face, and he grabbed his friend in a bear hug, careful not to hurt his splinted wrist. More arms joined Porthos', as it turned into a four-way hug.

None of them noticed Treville and the tailor look at each other with a smile before quietly sneaking away.

TBC


	9. Chapter 9

Less than an hour later, the four musketeers were summoned to the palace. They knew that King Louis wanted to see their new uniforms, so they weren't surprised at all and left immediately. Once arriving, Aramis left his sling with his horse and they went inside the palace and headed for the throne room.

"Ah!" said the King, when he saw them. He strode over and met them halfway. "Marvelous! They're exactly how I imagined!" He walked around them, studying everything, before stopping in front of them. "Is everything satisfactory?"

Everyone nodded. "We're very pleased, Your Majesty, and we thank you," said Athos.

"Especially I," said Aramis. "Your generosity is overwhelming."

Louis smiled at him and walked over to look at the cross on the breastplate. "Lemieux certainly did an admirable job!"

Suddenly, the door in the far corner opened to admit Queen Anne…and she didn't have the dauphin with her, to everyone's relief.

"Anne, my dear, come see the results!" Louis exclaimed.

The queen obeyed, walking over with a smile. "Monsieur Lemieux outdid himself!"

"He did indeed," said Louis. "Look at the breastplate." He looked at Aramis. "It was her idea, as a gift for your past loyalty." He didn't elaborate further, and Aramis was glad.

Queen Anne smiled as stopped in front of him to see it. "It's wonderful!" she said.

Aramis nodded. "Words fail me in expressing my thanks, Your Highness."

The queen met Aramis' eyes with a smile, and he smiled back.

"The celebration will be held on Saturday evening," said Louis. "It will be a night that France will remember for years to come!" He sighed. "Hopefully, now, we can enjoy peace for a while."

Queen Anne turned away from Aramis, realizing that it was unwise to stand near him for too long.

Aramis watched her go.

Athos, on Aramis' left, quickly flicked the splint on his friend's wrist.

Aramis naturally didn't expect it, and gasped, pulling his arm up and holding it against his body. He hunched over it with a wince, and it got the king and queen's attention.

"You all right?" Porthos asked as he grabbed Aramis' shoulder.

Athos cut in before Aramis had a chance to say anything. "Forgive us, Sire," he said, quickly walking around Aramis and getting in between him and Porthos, taking Aramis' good arm. "Aramis still needs to rest...and he should not be without his sling."

"Of course, of course," said the king, seeing how pale Aramis had become after the unexpected burst of pain. "You may go. Rest well."

They all bowed and left, with Athos not letting go of Aramis' arm.

Once outside the throne room, he spoke before Aramis had a chance. "I'm sorry, but you were staring at her and I needed to stop you before the king noticed."

Aramis understood and said nothing.

Once they were outside, they headed for the palace stable and Athos made Aramis sit on a nearby bench. "D'Artagnan, fetch his sling, please."

D'Artagnan nodded and ran off.

Athos sat next to Aramis and gently took his arm into his hands, checking to make sure the splint was still secure. "Did I do it more damage?"

Aramis shook his head. He was still very pale and breathing a little fast. Pain was running up his arm and down into his hand.

Porthos quietly watched. He was angry that Athos had done such a thing, but he was holding his tongue after hearing the reason why.

D'Artagnan ran back and handed the sling to Athos, who carefully helped Aramis get it on.

"I truly am sorry," Athos said, gently fixing the strap around the back of Aramis' collar. "You know that I would never wish to harm you."

Aramis sighed. "I know," he said, his voice a little shaky. He cleared his throat before speaking again. "You were right to do it. I should not have put you in that position." He closed his eyes and shook his head. "Sometimes I wonder if Rochefort should have succeeded."

That was the last thing any of them expected him to say. Athos gripped him by his upper arms. "What kind of foolish talk is that?!"

"Don't you know that it would've _killed_ us to lose you?" Porthos exclaimed.

Aramis sighed. "Your lives were all endangered by what I did five years ago," he said. "And the danger continues, as you just saw in the throne room." He lowered his head.

"It's been four years since you've seen her," d'Artagnan mentioned. "We know you love her, Aramis, and we don't expect this to be easy for you."

"I have to _make_ it easy," Aramis said. He raised his head and looked at each of them. "I need to make a choice…and I choose the three of you. The dauphin is not my son, and what I feel for the queen is a forbidden love. It is selfish for me to allow such danger to us all."

The others didn't know what to say to that at first.

Athos realized that the grip he had on Aramis' arms was much too tight, and he loosened his hold, not wanting to cause him anymore physical pain than he had already. A sudden thought came to him. "We would never abandon you," he said. "No matter the danger."

Aramis smiled at that, a little sadly. "And that is why I must end this _now_. Never again will I allow any of you to suffer as a result of a foolish decision."

Porthos dropped to sit beside Aramis on the bench, and he pulled him against his side in a half-hug. "You'll always have us, Aramis, you know that."

Aramis leaned his head on his friend's shoulder and closed his eyes. "I know."

"Even when you don't want us," d'Artagnan joked.

Aramis smiled. " _That_ day will never come."

TBC


	10. Chapter 10

The next few days passed quickly, and before they knew it, the musketeers were riding to the palace for King Louis' celebration, exactly one week after they had returned home from the war.

Aramis was finally feeling better; he was eating more and his strength was returning. His broken wrist was still hurting, but the pain had lessened. He was doing well mentally, after having made his 'choice'; Athos, Porthos, and d'Artagnan weren't just his friends, they were his brothers, and he was determined to never let them face danger on his account ever again.

Porthos gave him a hand dismounting from his horse, as usual lately, and Aramis left his sling behind again, even though he knew that he'd probably regret doing so by the end of the night.

D'Artagnan was wearing his hat, after making the others promise that if he took it off, they would make sure he didn't forget about it.

Once the troupe of musketeers walked into the palace ballroom, headed by Athos, Aramis, Porthos, and d'Artagnan, the people inside started to clap. None of the musketeers expected that, and glanced around before looking at King Louis and Queen Anne, who had stood from their thrones and were clapping as well. Treville was beside them, smiling like a proud father.

Once the applause died down, the king beckoned them forward before facing the crowd of noblemen and women on either side the room. "These are the men who fought for each one of us," he exclaimed. "Not only to make France a safer place to live, but to cement our country as being the greatest in all of Europe!"

Everyone clapped again.

"In reward," the king said to the musketeers. "Please accept this token of our gratitude." On cue, a servant rolled over a cart which contained small cloth bundles. Four of them were gold, and the rest were purple. The gold ones were bigger than the rest, and the reason was obvious.

Queen Anne reached into the cart and took out one of the gold ones before handing it to Athos.

Athos bowed slightly as he took it, surprised at its weight. It was filled with coins and was large enough to fill his palm.

"Athos," she said with a smile. "For your skilled leadership in winning this war for France, and for your loyalty to the king and I. We knew that we could depend on you."

"Thank you, Your Highness," Athos said, smiling a rare smile back.

Anne picked up another, and moved on to the next musketeer. "Aramis," she said. "For your devotion to the crown, despite what happened." Her voice wavered a little. "You have our eternal gratitude for remaining faithful and loyal to us both. Your skills in battle and in treating the wounded is a credit to your name, and France is grateful." She tried not to let the love show in her eyes.

Aramis bowed. "Your generosity overwhelms me." He made sure to look at the king too as he spoke. "Thank you."

Queen Anne smiled and moved on to Porthos, and Aramis didn't hear what she said to him or d'Artagnan as he made sure not to watch her and inwardly searched himself to see exactly what he felt. There was love, but the years spent away had tempered it. They'd only spent the one night together five years ago, and knowing that he was not the dauphin's father made it much easier to bear.

The queen handed a sack of coins to every musketeer, and eventually headed back towards the king, who started the room clapping again. When it died down, he exclaimed, "Now, we eat!"

Many people laughed, and the musicians started to play their instruments as some of the guests headed over to the banquet tables.

The four musketeers followed, and Treville joined them.

"This was unexpected," said d'Artagnan, holding up his sack of coins.

Treville smiled as they all took goblets of wine and moved away from the table. "It's well-deserved. You four have saved the king, saved the queen...you've saved France."

The others smiled.

"We try our best," said Aramis, as he drank.

Porthos chuckled and nudged him in the ribs.

Aramis quickly pulled his goblet away from his face before the wine spilled on himself. "Porthos! The uniform!"

Porthos laughed loudly and slung his arm around his friend's neck.

Aramis laughed too, suddenly feeling very happy. He was alive, his friends were alive, and right now, life looked good.

Queen Anne watched the musketeers as they enjoyed themselves. Aramis looked wonderful in his new uniform, and she felt a pang of longing for him.

With a sigh, she turned around as she thought back to what she had done shortly after her son's first birthday. At her request, an elderly man known for inking people's skin had placed a mark on her son's arm similar to a birthmark of King Louis'. She hadn't told him who she or her son were, and the old man had died not long after, keeping her secret forever safe. The mark was permanent, and when Louis first noticed it, he'd been overjoyed and Anne never had to worry about future suspicion.

She'd never expected Louis to point it out to Aramis, though, and still felt mortified over the shock that she'd seen in Aramis' eyes. He'd obviously been devastated, and she'd wanted to tell him what she'd done, but as she watched Aramis laughing with his friends, she wondered if she _shouldn't_ tell him after all. Right now, Aramis was happy, and that was good enough for her.

Yes, she'd keep the secret for now. If something changed in the future, she'd think on it again.

THE END  
I bet none of you expected that ending, did you?


End file.
